Allesandra ca’Vörl
“A’HÏRZG! A moment!”
Semini called out to
her as she left Brezno Temple after the Cénzidi service. Her foot
was already on the carriage step, but she turned to him. Jan had
already left—accompanied by Elissa ca’Karina and Fynn—while Pauli
had said that he would attend the service given by the palais’
o’téni in the Hïrzg’s Chapel. Allesandra suspected that he’d
instead spent the time between the sweating thighs of one of the
ladies of the court.
“Archigos,” she said,
giving him the sign of Cénzi. “A particularly strong Admonition
today, I thought.” Around them, the worshipers streaming out from
the temple looked toward them, but stayed carefully distant:
whatever the A’Hïrzg and the Archigos discussed, it was not for
common ears. The carriage attendant moved away to check the
harnesses of the horses and converse with the driver; the minor
ténis who always followed the Archigos had remained at the doors to
the temple in a huddle, talking. Semini gave her the dark, somber
smile of a bear.
“Thank you,” he told
her. He glanced around to see that no one was within earshot.
“You’ve heard the news?”
“News?” Allesandra
cocked her head quizzically, and Semini’s mouth tightened under the
grizzled beard.
“It just came to me
through one of the Faith’s contacts,” he told her. “I thought
perhaps the news hadn’t quite reached the palais yet. The Regent
ca’Rudka has been removed by the Council of Ca’ and is currently
imprisoned in the Bastida.”
“Oh, by Cénzi . . .”
Allesandra breathed, genuinely shocked by what he’d just said.
What does this mean? What’s happened
there? If the Archigos was offended by Allesandra’s curse,
he showed nothing. He nodded into her flustered
silence.
“Yes. I was rather
amazed myself.” His voice dropped low and he leaned in toward her,
turning his head so that his lips were very near her ear. The sound
of his low growl made her shiver. “I worry that this changes . . .
everything for us, Allesandra.”
Then he stepped back
again and her neck was cold, even in the early summer warmth.
“Archigos . . .” she began. What have I done?
How can I stop the White Stone now? With the Regent gone, it’s all
for nothing. Nothing. What have I done? She glanced up at
the pigeons circling the golden domes of the temple. There were
dozens of them, diving and rising and intertwining like the
possibilities whirling in her head. “You trust the source of this
news?”
“I do,” he rumbled.
“Gairdi has never been wrong before. No doubt the Hïrzg will hear
the same from his own sources soon. News like this . . .” His head
swiveled side to side above the green robes, the beard moving on
the cloth. “It will travel like wildfire in a drought. Has the
Council gone mad? From all I’ve heard, Audric’s not capable of
being Kraljiki. And with ca’Rudka in the Bastida . .
.”
“ ‘Those swallowed by
the Bastida a’Drago rarely emerge whole.’ ” Allesandra finished the
thought for him—an old saying in Nessantico, usually muttered with
a scowl and a gesture meant to ward off curses directed toward the
dark stones and impassive towers of the Bastida. “I feel sorry for
ca’Rudka. I liked the man, despite what he did to my vatarh.” She
took a long breath, glancing again at the pigeons, settling in the
courtyard again now that most of the worshipers had departed for
their homes. Now that she’d had time to absorb the news, the shock
had passed, but the question still whirled in her mind.
What have I done?
“This changes
nothing,” she told Semini firmly, wishing she were as certain as
she made her voice sound. “The Regent has simply been replaced by
the Council, some of whom undoubtedly intend to be the next Kralji.
Audric is still Audric, and when he falls . . . well, then we will
be in a position to do what we must. Don’t worry,
Archigos.”
He nodded and bowed
to her. Carefully, looking around once more, he put his hands
around hers, pressing them between his own for a moment. “I will
pray that you’re right, A’Hïrzg,” he said quietly. “Perhaps . . .
perhaps we could talk more of this—privately—later this morning.”
His eyebrows arched above piercing, unblinking eyes.
“All right,” she told
him, wondering if this was what she really wanted. She would have
to think further, to be certain. “In two turns of the glass,
perhaps. In my chambers at the palais?”
“I will make sure my
schedule is cleared,” he told her. He smiled. He took a step back
from her and gave her the sign of Cénzi, bowing as he did so. “I
look forward to it,” he said. “Greatly.”
“A’Hïrzg . . .” As
soon as the hall servant had closed the door behind him, as soon as
he realized that they were alone, Semini had come to her and taken
her hand. She let him hold it for a few breaths, then stepped back
from him. She gestured at the table set in the middle of the
room.
“I had my staff
prepare us a luncheon.”
He looked at it, and
she saw the disappointment in his face.
She had been
considering what she wanted to do ever since she’d left him. She
needed Semini, yes, but in all likelihood she could have that help
without being his lover. Yet . . . she had to admit that he was
attractive, that she found herself leaning toward him. She
remembered the few times she’d allowed herself to have lovers,
remembering the heat and long, lingering kisses, the gasping
sliding of intertwined bodies, the moments when all rational
thought was lost in swirling, blind ecstasy.
She would have
enjoyed having a husband who was also a lover and a partner, with
whom she could have true intimacy. She could feel the void in her
soul: she had no true friends, no family she loved and who loved
her in return. Archigos Ana might have been her captor, but she’d
also been more of a matarh to her than her own, and Vatarh had
taken that from her when he’d finally ransomed her. And when she’d
finally returned to the vatarh whom she’d once loved so deeply, it
was to find that his affection no longer shone down on her like the
very sun, but now was concentrated entirely on Fynn. Vatarh had
instead married her off—a political prize to seal the agreement
bringing West Magyaria into the Coalition. She loved the son that
came from her spousal duty and he had loved her also as a child,
but his age and Fynn were pulling him away from her.
Early on, she had
imagined coming back to Nessantico—perhaps as the Hïrzgin, perhaps
as a claimant to the Sun Throne itself. She had imagined her
friendship with Ana restored, of the two of them working together
to create an empire that would be the wonder of the ages. But now
Ana was gone forever, stolen from her.
She had herself. She
had no one else.
You like Semini well enough, and it’s obvious he’s already
in love with you. But he was also nearly two decades older,
and they were both married. There was no future with him—unless,
perhaps, he could become the Archigos of a unified
Faith.
You’re thinking like your vatarh. You’re thinking like old
Marguerite.
Semini stared at the
meal on the table: the cold, sliced meats, the bread, the cheese,
the wine. “If the A’Hïrzg is hungry, then . . .”
You could end up as lonely as Ana was, as Marguerite was.
Why shouldn’t you let yourself be close to someone, to enjoy them?
You need someone who is your ally, your lover. . .
.
She touched his back,
let her hand trail down his spine. “The meal,” she said, “was for
appearances. And for later.”
“Allesandra—” He had
turned toward her, and the hopeful look on his face nearly made her
laugh.
She lifted up on her
toes, her hand on his shoulders, and kissed him. His beard, she
found, was surprisingly soft, and the lips underneath yielded to
her. She brought her heels back down to the floor and took his
hands, looking up at him with her head cocked to one side. His
mouth was slightly open. “We would have to be careful, Semini,” she
told him. “So very careful.”
His fingers tightened
on hers. He leaned down toward her and she felt his lips brush her
hair, moving as he spoke. “Cénzi has my soul,” he whispered. “But
you, Allesandra, you have my heart. You always had my heart.” The
words were so unexpected, so clumsy and cloying that she nearly
laughed again, though she knew it would destroy him. She started to
speak, to say something in return, but he leaned down again and
kissed her brow, softly. She turned her face toward his, her arms
going around him. The kiss was longer and urgent, his breath sweet,
and the depth of her own hungry response startled her. She broke
away reluctantly, hugging him tightly, her breath
trembling.
His lips brushed her
hair, his breath on her ear made her shiver. “This is what I want,
Allesandra, more than anything.”
She didn’t answer him
with words, but with her mouth and her hands.